Through the grand cascades of brilliant color, and soothing intervals of aromatic manifestations, the congregation of the Church of Christ sat in long rows amidst the vibrant gardens of Heaven. The crowd had grown considerably over the last month, drawing believers from all over Connecticut to take part in the union of nature and God.
Martin Cavanaugh stood robed at the podium near the edge of the cliff, the sky providing a fitting backdrop; casting hews of pink and blue across the thin, scattered clouds. He smiled nervously at his vast crowd of listeners. No seats remained so many were forced to stand among the brush, far back from the make shift pulpit that had been adorned with Clematis. There must have been a hundred people there, and Martin was rather unprepared for the turn out. He knew the body of the church had been growing, but this was a dramatic change. Word must have spread quickly. He glanced at his family who were in their usual place. Mary, Joy, Jimbo, Christopher, Kayla and Gabe.
Today, the sermon was on the Ten Commandments. With all eyes fixed firmly on Martin, the parish absorbed every syllable he uttered. Soon, it was obvious that he had adapted to the sizable crowd and began preaching with the fury he always had. “Jesus told us not to sin. But we sin, and sin, and sin, and sin. We are challenged by the devil every day, every minute. We know the difference between right and wrong, but all to often we have the need to get away with a little indulgence. The bible says ‘Let those without sin, cast the first stone.” There is no one. Not you not me,” He moved from behind the podium, his microphone clenched tightly in his fist, “Not you, not you. We are all sinners. Therefore, none of us have the right to cast anything! We have no place criticizing our fellow man for their choices. ‘Love thy neighbor as thy own self,’ Jesus said.”
As Gabe listened, he couldn’t help but twinge from the pointed irony, and Martin continued on, pacing back and forth, “We have no place to judge, or damn them for their trials. We are on a mission of our own, and we know what that mission is. We are servants of our Lord, Jesus Christ!”
The audience stood and applauded. Feeling the spirit, emotionally charged listeners would raise their hands, screaming out, “AMEN!”
Martin loved it. This was where he belonged. This was how he served his Lord. He was a vessel, and every time he opened his mouth to deliver a new account, he did it with the Holy Spirit surging through him. This was power. Gabe and his family cheered with the rest of his disciples. The clergyman standing in the front began to pass the offering basket. It filled fast with bills as it was handed down the rows. The Cavanaugh’s watched the donations build, smiling and holding each other hands in celebration. They knew a miracle had befallen them. Their church would be saved.
“I can’t believe you actually had the nerve to kiss him!”
In her bedroom, Rachel was sitting in front of her large oak vanity, staring into the mirror. She gently applied a light shade of rouge to her cheeks, then plunged her mascara stick into the thin bottle.
Angie was next to her, watching her perform the procedure with the intensity of a brain surgeon. “It was probably the craziest thing I’ve ever done. I thought for sure he would get up and smack me in the face,” Angie stated, reliving that night again, as she had dozens of times by now. Rachel was used to it. She would just smile and nod as if it were just as explosive as the first time she heard it. She spun toward Angie, taking her chin, holding her head steady and gently stroked the brush over Angie’s eyes. Angie jerked back, “Don’t poke me in the eye.”
Rachel huffed, “I wasn’t going to poke you, now just hold still.”
Angie returned her face to Rachel’s open hand, “I don’t see the point of any of this. It doesn’t help me any... I still look like me, only painted.”
Rachel began on the other lash, “It boosts the ego. When you know you look good, you have a lot more confidence,” she replied.
Angie flinched back again, “You almost poked me in the eye! I felt the bristles touch my eyeball! You’re gonna blind me!” She quarreled.
“I wasn’t even touching your eyeball!” Rachel argued.
“Well... I felt something touch my eye!”
“Fine, we’ll just do lipstick.” Defeated, Rachel capped the mascara and opened a tube of velvet red gloss.
Angie studied Rachel as she coated her lips, “How does it feel to be pretty?” She questioned, staring at Rachel, admiring her fairness.
The sincerity in her voice made Rachel stop. She glared into Angie’s eyes, not smiling, like stone.
“You can say it doesn’t matter what’s on the outside, but I know that’s a lie,” Angie added quietly.
“I’ve never thought of myself as pretty... so I don’t know how to answer your question,” Rachel commented blankly.
“Surely other people have told you.”
Rachel looked back to the image in the mirror, of herself and Angie, “I’ve heard it before, but it’s just a passing compliment, something people say to be nice, never means much.”
Angie revered her, “It must be nice to hear. No one’s ever told me that before. That I was pretty.”
Rachel turned her head, meeting her straight on, “Why do you need to be told?”
Angie was gripped by Rachel’s enigmatic eye’s. Their color so penetrating that they seemed to glow. She said nothing.
Rachel broke their intense stare, grabbing the foundation. She twisted off the cap and poured a puddle into her palm, rubbing them together. With both of her hands she moved into Angie, softly rubbing her hands over her face, caressing her warm skin. She did it slow, expecting Angie to refuse, but she didn’t. Angie closed her eyes, as Rachel moved the tips of her fingers over them, then down across her tiny scars that formed a perfect line down to her jowls.
“Where did you get your scars?” Rachel asked, almost silently, careful not to disrupt the solitude they had partaken of together.
Angie opened he eyes, meeting her with a blank look, “I was a baby when it happened. I was lying on a blanket beside my Mother. She got up to get a drink. She left me alone. A dog... a stray dog wondered in from the alley behind the house. It attacked me. It picked me up by my head; my entire face was in its mouth. My Mom came out and started screaming, but it ran away, with me still inside... she chased it down the street, and this man came out of nowhere, and he stopped the dog. It dropped me and the man picked me up and gave me to my Mom. He rushed us to the hospital where I had fifty stitches. They said if it would have bitten me an inch higher, it would’ve pierced my temple, any lower it would have had me by the neck. I could’ve died.”
Rachel stood still and sound, cupping Angie’s face in her hands, “Wow,” She recounted bewildered, “I guess we should consider ourselves lucky to have you.”
“Do you think it would make a difference? I mean, if I had died?”
Rachel removed her hands and sank back into her seat, “We would’ve never been friends....” Angie grew a smile.
The sing-song tune of the doorbell chimed through the Porter house. Rachel and Angie jumped up, “Maybe that’s Corey!” Rachel howled as she trampled down the hallway with Angie on her heals. Stampeding down the stairs, and into the foyer, unable to stop soon enough, they slammed into the front door. Laughing, Rachel yanked it open.
Immediately the laughter subsided. Angie eyed him like a dangerous enemy, a predator stalking his prey.
Rachel breathlessly broke a smile, “Gabe, what are you doing here?” She asked, uncomfortably surprised.
Gabe greeted her with a caring expression, “It’s Sunday. I came for our walk.”
Now, this was odd. Rachel and Gabe hadn’t taken there walk for nearly a month. They hadn’t spoken in over two weeks. This was sudden. Rachel cocked her head curiously. “I really can’t today, Gabe. I have company.”
Gabe forced his way past her, “Angie won’t mind if I steal you away for a couple of hours. I think we have a lot we need to talk about, don’t you?” He asked, glancing around her house. It seemed as if it had gon
e through some change, just as Rachel herself had. The foreign statues of mangled beings and ancient Gods had been removed. “Looks like your Mom redecorated,” he commented.
Rachel closed the door and glanced at Angie, “Do you mind if I go with him, just for a little while.”
Angie wilted, wanting to firmly dispute the idea, but digressing, “No. Not at all,” she lied. Rachel kissed her on the cheek, then looked at Gabe who had made his way into the living room, “Let me just grab a sweater and we can go,” she said, bounding past Angie up the stairs.
Angie watched Gabe closely through the archway. How could he have the audacity to keep on with this betrayal? Knowing that he was with Rachel, he campaigned to get Corey back. This wasn’t anything coincidental anymore. This wasn’t an elaborate mistake. He knew what he was doing, and continued to dig himself in deeper. He could have ended it all when Corey broke up with him. He could have disregarded Corey and stayed with Rachel. When Gabe had the option of correcting his mistakes, he opted only to stay on his destructive path, one that would inevitably annihilate two innocent souls. Now he had no excuses. He was doing it by choice. Enraged, Angie threw open the door and stomped out, across the yard and onto the sidewalk. She was crying, not so much because she was sad, but that was an ingredient. She was angry; Angry at herself for not putting a stop to Gabe long ago, that first night when she found out. It had gone way to far now, beyond limits of a simple explanation. She was a criminal, a victimizer just as Gabe. Knowing all she knew, she never told either of them, and now, such a long time had passed, that to go to either of them now would be confessing her own deceit. She was an accessory. She turned over her shoulder and paused in the shade of a swaying, white birch tree. She watched as Gabe held the small of Rachel’s back, walking at her side as the turned away from her house, walking the opposite way as Angie. Their backs were toward her, and she could only hope that Gabe would find in inside himself to do the decent thing and tell her. He wouldn’t. It was a frivolous hope. She started again, on her way down the quiet street, her hands tucked inside her baggy sleeves, ones she used to wipe her tears away.
“It always rains in August; Mostly nighttime thunderstorms. I kind of like that.” Gabe shared as he and Rachel walked down London’s Alley where they always took their morning walks. London’s Alley was named for a British man who moved to Sadie in the 1970’s. He bought the house at the end of the lane, and solicited permission from the Neighbors to turn the drab alley into a replica of the ones from his homeland. Granted allowance, he tore down the rickety, old metal fences, and erected beautiful brick walls, tall and unbroken, nary a sign of any evidence of time. Stone cherubs sat along the cement topping, their tiny legs dangling over the edge. Morning Glory crawled up along the red brick, sprouting forth brilliant blue blossoms. Spilling over the towering fixtures were huge willow trees, their thickly massed branches nearly reaching the narrow, paved alley from the backyards hidden behind the structures. Lantern lights had been placed at both entrances to the alley, where they sat upon large brick pillars.
Rachel didn’t have much to say. It had seemed an eternity since she was last with him, and her lack of excitement, and eagerness disturbed her, but she didn’t show it.
“I heard your parents are getting a divorce, you okay with that?” Gabe asked concerned.
Rachel held her hands behind her back, “I’m fine. It was something that just had to happen. My Dad just... fell out of love, and instead of giving my Mom the respect of letting her know, he screwed around behind her back and flaunted it in her face.” She explained casually.
Gabe watched his feet move beneath him, stepping on the cracks in the black pavement, and the slivers of grass that escaped through them, “I waited for you to call for so long. I really missed you,” he confessed.
Rachel grinned, “I missed you too. I have just been so preoccupied with getting my life in order. I can’t believe I’m going to be leaving so soon. I have this war going on inside of me, I don’t know whether to be happy about going, and starting my life, or scared because of all of the crime you hear about. I guess Manhattan is a pretty rough neighborhood. Actually, the entire city is rough. In essence, it’s just not Sadie anymore. Sometimes, I’m so exited about all of the new people I’m going to meet, and all the new events that will follow. Then, I’m sad about leaving my Mom alone, and leaving so much behind, so I’m a virtual melting pot of emotions.” Rachel declared exasperated.
Gabe took her arm and brought her to a standstill. She looked up to him, startled by his rapid demand. “What about me... Are you planning on leaving me behind too? Are you just going to go off to New York and meet all these guys and forget all about me?” Gabe asked shakily. He was half ashamed that he allowed himself to be so blunt; he had hoped not to seem overzealous in looking for his reassurance.
Rachel, once able to absorb his words, and becoming aware of Gabe’s genuine fear, began to snicker.
Gabe was in disbelief. He had no idea what to say. Soon her giggles turned into boisterous laughter, literally doubling her over. “I’m serious, Rachel, this isn’t funny,” Gabe said earnestly, suddenly feeling displaced.
Still doubled, Rachel spoke in labored sentences, stopping between words to laugh again, “I know... I know... It’s just... so wildly ironic.”
“I wish you wouldn’t laugh at me,” Gabe upbraided distantly, trying to look away.
Finally, Rachel found the ability to stand upright, her face was red from the shortage of oxygen, her eyes were teary and her smile was permanently engraved on her face, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I could hear myself saying something like that not so long ago, and I just didn’t comprehend how unbelievably pathetic I must have sounded,” she announced amused.
Gabe scratched the back of his neck troubled, “I don’t think you sounded pathetic,” he admitted. Rachel held her stomach, it still ached a little, “No, I was pathetic, trust me. I was well on my way to finding myself exactly were my Mom was. Trying to please everyone else, and becoming an old pushover.”
Gabe shook his head in disagreement, adamantly defending her, “You were never a pushover, Rachel. You are a bright, wonderful, generous girl. You are somebody I hold in very high regard, you help people, you give so much of yourself and you never ask for anything in return except love. Maybe I was too stupid to see it, or maybe I just took you for granted, but Rachel, I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to go away, and never look back. We have too much.”
Rachel felt a draft of air swish through the alley, it was warm and dry. She offered Gabe a flattered expression, politely grinning, “Gabriel, we have had many, many years of together. Practically my entire childhood was spent with you, learning with you, growing with you. We have so many memories, and we’ll have them for the rest of our lives, that’s the one thing we’ll always share... I don’t know what’s going to happen to either of us when we leave Sadie. One thing I do know, is that nothing will ever be the same. Nothing.”
Gabe wanted to grab her and tear a hole in the fabric of time, forcing her back to the time when she was once so submissive and fresh. That hadn’t been so long ago. How can anyone change so drastically in such a short frame? There was once a time when she would have kissed the ground he walked on, she would have dropped everything just to talk to him, be with him. Now she was someone else. A woman of independent means. “How can you say that, Rach? You don’t throw away seven years of... of... us! We have a history, we don’t have to change, and nothing between us has to change. The world may change around us, things may look different. We may be in different places, but what we have in our hearts, that we can keep, and preserve. When we leave Sadie, we’re moving into strange territory, we can’t trust anything out there to be true, but we have seven years, and we have each other, that is the one thing we can keep with us, that’s the one thing to remind us that what we have is true.”
She was somewhat puzzled by his blatant show of weakness. Gabe had never b
een one to show his fear. Apparently, he was not the rock of strength she thought him to be. It wasn’t a bad thing; it made her look at him as more of an equal, as something more human than she had before. Once she had believed him to be supernatural, someone that beheld awesome powers. She depended on him for so much in the past, more than should ever be expected of one man. She depended on Gabe to validate her existence. She needed him to feel worthwhile, and he gave her that, plus so much more. He was her protector, someone she could hide behind in times of confrontation. He was her excuse for being fragile. She never had to engage in any real battles, because Gabe fought for her. He provided her with countless reasons for not needing to stand on her own two feet. She could fade into the background and allow Gabe to live his life for both of them, and she would have been perfectly content and proud that he would do such. That was not who she was anymore. She wanted the satisfaction of knowing how it felt to live her own life. She had seen her own Mother take a back seat and let someone else steer the direction of her life. She let her husband determine what would be. Of course, she had no control over his disassociation with her, but she did know of his departure from her dream life, and she still desperately held on to her own hopes and in doing so, became miserable, and alone.
That event had changed Rachel. She had learned that it was imperative to find her own bearing. Gabe would not be around to nurse her forever. She couldn’t risk, one day finding she was helpless and vulnerable. This was the beginning of self-discovery. This was the beginning of that great window of time when people begin to put together the infinite pieces that make them who they are.
Rachel took his hand, “Gabe, I will never forget you, whether we are together, or by some chance, we’re not. But I cannot promise you that the way things are now, is the way they’ll be for the rest of our lives. I had to face that, and it was the hardest thing that I’ve had to do.”
Gabe was visibly fraught, “We don’t have to expect things to fall apart, Rachel. We have this binding that holds us together, that we can rely on. I love you. I’m giving the most I’m capable of just to keep you.”
Rachel laid her head against his chest, “You have me now.”
Gabe wrapped his arms around her and held her as close as he could, wanting to draw her in, and never, ever let her go, secretly wishing that whatever had been done to give her a voice of her own he could undo.
Corey sat beside the telephone in the living room. He eyed it intensely, willing it to ring. Unfortunately it did not comply. He wanted Thomas to call him. He had been waiting for days. He found Thomas occupying his every thought, even his dreams. Corey knew he was with Chris, and that was okay, it’s not like Thomas could ever feel like this about him anyway. He didn’t feel he was being disloyal to Chris. Being disloyal would be actually initiating an affair with someone who was consensual, and Thomas was not. Sure, this situation ran parallel to the ‘Jason’ incident, but, since Corey knew there was no chance, he had knowledge of distinct boundaries that he would not compromise.
Finally, he mustered the guts to pick up the telephone and call him.
“Hello?” Thomas answered.
“Hey,” Corey paused, avoiding sounding intimate, “Buddy,” he added gruffly. He closed his eyes and his hand came to his forehead with dread.
“Hi... Buddy,” Thomas reiterated, noticing the forced gesture.
“I was just wondering what you were doing?” Corey rattled.
Thomas was quiet for a second before finally replying, “I’m not really doing anything.”
Corey wound himself up in the telephone cord as he twisted and paced frazzled, “I hung up my drawing. You left before I could thank you.”
“It was nothing. I just really didn’t have room for it anymore,” Thomas said.
Corey appeared discouraged, “It was still nice that you chose me,” he swallowed hard, “You know, to give it to.”
“Well, the drawing was of you. It would’ve been hard to give it to anybody else,” Thomas explained.
Corey chuckled, even though he had hoped Thomas’ reasons hadn’t been so conventional, “True... Anyway, I wanted to invite you over. I thought we could do something... maybe watch a movie.”
Thomas didn’t answer directly; it was probably because Corey didn’t give him a chance to.
“You don’t have too. I mean, it was just a thought. I have nothing to do today. I’m really bored, and I called everyone else, but no one was home,” Corey lied. That sounded callous. He felt like an idiot and held the telephone away, banging the head of the receiver against his forehead. Then he attempted to retrieve himself, “That didn’t come out right.”
He heard Thomas giggle halfway, “Okay, since there’s nobody else.”
“GREAT!” Corey screeched a little too loud into the phone. “Come over now.... if you want.” “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“OKAY!” Corey agreed as he slammed down the telephone, fanning himself with his open hand. He had to get ready! He wanted to look good. He wanted to make a lasting impression! Not that it mattered, or even that Thomas would notice, but it was common decency to look appropriate when having a guest.
Corey went to take a quick stride away before realizing the cord from the phone had bound his feet. He yowled as he crashed to the ground. He scrambled to free himself. Then, as if in fast forward, he hurried to his feet and fled out of the room, flying up the stairs, ripping down the hallway and into his bedroom.
He ripped off his clothes and flung open his closet door, held up several outfits before deciding on a pair of tight, faded denim jeans and a loose sweater. Once dressed, he ran to his mirror and picked up the hair spray that sat on the hanging cabinet beside it. Slinging his head downward, his hair hung heavily in front of him and he began spritzing it like mad. Then, he shook like a wet dog and positioned the layers accordingly with his fingers.
He fumbled for a bottle of cologne and pressed the nozzle, but nothing happened. “No, not now,” he cursed and he banged it on the edge of the surface. Then he tried again and a steady mist of scent covered his neck. The delicate smell of L’uminous filled his nostrils and he loved it... only now, it wouldn’t stop. It was jammed.
With the projectile stream spouting into the air, Corey hopped around the room, trying in angst to retrieve control. Finally, he just slung the entire bottle out of the window. Coughing and gagging from the potent musk, he jetted back out of the room.
Judy Garland stood poised in front of the cherry oak mirror, surveying herself, flipping her long, auburn hair over her shoulders. She stepped over to the tall, Victorian window as graceful as a summer breeze, and began to sing, “The Boy Next Door.”
The lyrics struck both Thomas and Corey as the sat opposite the television on the sofa, discreetly stealing fast glimpses of each other. Judy sang on; “How can I ignore the boy next door. I love him more than I can say. Doesn’t try to please me. Doesn’t even tease me. And he never sees me glance his way. And though I’m heart sore for the boy next door, Affection for me won’t dismay... I just adore him, so I can’t ignore him... The boy next door.”
Needing an excuse to look at Thomas without obviously staring, Corey tried to strike a conversation. “I know all the words to the ‘Trolley Song,’” he prattled mindlessly, then immediately his mouth dropped in horror. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Thomas nodded in acknowledgment, pursing his lips. Then he stuck his nose into the air sniffing about. “Do you smell that?”
Corey grabbed the tray of snacks off the end table, pushing it into Thomas’ face, diverting him from the lingering cologne, overpowering as it might be, but hoped Thomas wouldn’t notice. “Cracker?” he squeaked.
“No thanks,” Thomas replied, “Don’t you smell that? It’s- It’s burning my eyes.”
Corey flew up from the sofa, “Uh... I think it might be the dog! Yeah, you see, he just came back from being groomed and they always spray them with this cologne to make them... not s
tink.”
“I didn’t know you had a dog.”
“I- I don’t. It’s not mine; it’s my friends’ dog. I’m just watching it for her... I’ll just run and put him out,” Corey stuttered. He was a terrible liar. He rushed from the living room into the kitchen, where he made a bee line for the sink. He turned on the faucet and took a dish rag, running it under the water. He splashed it on his neck and muffled a squeal, a natural reaction after scalding yourself. He turned the other knob, releasing a cold flow. He wiped as much of the perfume from his body as possible, he prayed enough to subdue the smell, then, raced back into the room where Thomas waited.
He calmly entered. “There, that should be better,” he stated, sitting down.
Thomas could sense that Corey’s behavior was somewhat altered. He was rigid and flighty. He began to believe he was making him uncomfortable. Maybe Corey didn’t actually want him to come over at all; he could’ve just been being polite. He saw Corey was sitting on the edge of his seat, rubbing his hands together between his knees. Why did he invite him over if he didn’t want him there?
Thomas faked a yawn and stretched his arms above his head, “I think I should get going.” Thomas stood up and sighed.
Corey bounded up beside him, “No! No!” He pleaded in despair, then tried not to appear distraught, “I mean, the movie isn’t even over yet.”
Thomas started toward the front door as Corey scuttled along behind him like an anxious puppy, “We don’t have to watch the movie if you don’t want to. We can do something else. I have scrabble and checkers, even Pong, have you ever played Pong?” Corey cringed on the inside.
Thomas turned to him irritated, “You can stop it now, Corey. You don’t have to be courteous because I gave you the picture. I don’t expect you to invite me over and become my.... best friend.”
Corey was speechless. What was he talking about? Had he said, or done something wrong? He strained for some words, “I invited you over because I like you. I don’t know why you think I’m just being nice to you because of the picture. Why do you have to be so suspicious?”
Thomas fell silent, now feeling embarrassed, “You just seemed edgy, like I was making you uncomfortable or something. I thought that you might think that I thought since I gave you the drawing you’d think you would have to tolerate me.”
“Okay... now you’re sounding like me.”
Thomas smiled meekly, “Sorry.”
“Why does it have to be such an outlandish idea, that I may want to spend time with you,” Corey asked curiously.
Thomas glared at him through shining eyes, “I never wanted to impose... on you.”
Corey met his eyes with his own, “You’re not imposing... you could never impose... you’re always welcome.”
Thomas wanted to touch his face, the silken softness it seemed to be, tantalized him. More than anything in the world, he wanted to kiss him. Take him into his arms and pull him close, feel his heart beating against his body. He would run his fingers over his shoulders and join them at the small of his back while inhaling the light essence of his hair. Just to be able to feel that he was loved by this magnificent soul would make his remaining days more satisfying. Just to know how he feels to the touch, how he thinks, what he dreams, that would be heaven. To kiss the lids of his eyes as he slept, to feel him next to him in the early morning hours, to hold him close so they become-
Ahhhhh!!! Thomas knew he had to stop this. It was destructive and would drive him mad. Corey had someone already, and even if he didn’t, Thomas knew he would never be enough to give Corey what he deserved.
Thomas reached down and took Corey hand, shaking it vigorously. Maybe it was a polite gesture, maybe it was an excuse to touch him, “You’re a great neighbor, Corey.”
Feeling like he was perched on the top of a washing machine as Thomas nearly yanked his arm off his body, Corey grinned displaced. Neighbor? Somehow, he found the nerve to speak otherwise, “I hope we’re more than just neighbors. After all, I’ve lived here for four months. Kind of silly to be so formal after all this time, huh?”
Still shaking Corey’s hand, Thomas finally dropped it, “Yeah, you’re right! We’re not just neighbors... we’re more than that now. Aren’t we?” What were they?
Corey nursed his hand, which throbbed now, but he didn’t let on, “Yes, we’re much more than that... I mean, If you want to be, I want to be... more than neighbors, I mean,” Corey stammered. Thomas excitedly accepted, “I do!” he yelled, and then quieted, “I do. I just wasn’t sure if you really wanted to be... more. I didn’t want to assume anything; you know what they say about people who assume.”
“So, then... what exactly are we?” Corey questioned carefully.
“I guess, after neighbors comes... friends?” Thomas hoped he was wrong.
Corey withheld the flood of words that shuttled through his mind, “I guess we’re... friends then,” he announced mechanically.
“Friends,” Thomas repeated, just as disappointed.
Corey cleared his throat, folding his arms across his narrow frame, “I always thought we were friends though... so this is really nothing new.”
“That’s funny... I felt the same way,” Thomas said indirectly.
For the next few moments, it was perfectly still. Neither of them spoke, or moved. Nothing on Earth made a sound. Corey pushed his hair back with his hand and looked up at Thomas, “I don’t want you to go,” he confessed in a raspy, almost incriminating tone.
“I don’t want to go,” Thomas replied in the same manner.
After another moment of uncomfortable silence, Corey took Thomas by the hand and led him toward the staircase, “I have something I want to show you.”
“This is my Mother,” Corey said.
He and Thomas were lying back on his bed huddled closely together, holding the thick photo album above them.
“She’s pretty,” Thomas said kindly, “You look like your Mom. You have the same nose.”
“I hate my nose.” Corey objected.
Thomas laughed, “Why? Why do you hate it, it looks like a little button.” Thomas and Corey faced each other. They were barely an inch apart.
“It does not, You can see it from space.” Corey joked.
“Yeah, well my ears stick out. When I was born the doctor expected me to take flight,” Thomas admitted.
Corey giggled, “You’re a liar! They are not big.”
Thomas smiled and returned his attention to the pictures above. “Who’s this?” He asked, pointing to a photograph of a large, insanely happy woman.”
Corey smiled uncontrollably, “That’s my Aunt Claudia. She’s my Dad’s sister. She once weighed six hundred and fifty pounds, and she went on this Richard Simmons diet and lost three hundred. Now she has these huge bags under her arms, and her boobs hang down to her waist. I call her Claudia Cleavage.”
Thomas erupted with laughter. Corey couldn’t help but be amused by him, “I say it out of love! It’s not derogatory, even she laughs about it.” He put the album down beside his bed and turned on his side, facing Thomas, who had contained himself. “I’m really very proud of her. She used to be so unhappy with herself, and she finally just had enough. Decided to make a change.”
Thomas placed his hand under his head, staring at Corey, studying his face, “Next time you see Aunt Claudia, give her my congratulations.”
Corey smiled again, “I will.” He draped one arm over his waist and kept the other hand tucked under the pillow beneath his head, “Okay, now I have a serious question.”
“What?” Thomas asked.
“If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?” Corey interrogated curiously, scanning Thomas’s expression.
Thomas deliberated for a moment, “I think I have already changed the worst part about myself.” “What was that?”
He wondered if he should tell him about his sordid past. Would it make Corey think differently of hi
m? Would it change things as they had naturally evolved, would they suddenly shift paths?
Corey could see the conflict in Thomas’s face, “Come on, tell me. I’ll tell you about my flaws if you tell me yours!” He teased.
Thomas didn’t laugh. Once he decided to tell him, the next step was mustering the courage to say it aloud. He bit his bottom lip and began; “Remember once, I told you about how I did some… things that I regret.”
“Yeah.”
“They were some pretty childish things. I used to do a lot of drugs with these guys I hung around with. We’d walk the streets at night and go looking for trouble. I got arrested a few times. Had to go to court. I wasn’t really happy doing those things, so I decided to make a change. I was on a path to nowhere, and no one was looking out for me, so I came to the conclusion that I had to take care of myself. I quit doing drugs, stayed out of trouble and channeled my energy into something productive.
Corey was unresponsive.
“So, you must think I’m a loser now right.”
Corey absorbed his every word with such regard that it took him a moment to find his own voice, “No. I think you’re very intelligent. You’re an old soul. I can see it in your eyes... like you’ve lived a thousand lives, and carry wisdom from them all. No matter what happens to you, no matter where you are, you’ll always come out on top, because you’re a survivor. Those instincts are a part of you.”
“I feel old,” Thomas whispered, the thickening emotion evident in his soft tone.
Corey broke a sympathetic grin, “There’s this place in time,” he began softly, “After you learned all of your lessons, after you’ve seen all there is to see, and seen it through the eyes of a thousand people, in a thousand different times, once you’ve been both the prince and the pauper, only then do you stand at the Gates of Autumn. That’s what they call your last life. Your last time around. Your last lesson. After that, after you die, you go on to this wonderful place. It’s like being right at the end of a rainbow. There you see all of this beauty, all of these magnificent colors, so much more vibrant than even the brightest color you’ve ever seen. It’s a reward for completing your mission. You get to witness the most majestic things heaven has to offer. Nothing words can describe, or imagination can conceive. It’s in this place that you can finally rest, look back at all of the lives you led, and remember what it was like to be human. Maybe that’s where you are... at the Gates of Autumn.”
“I thought I’ve seen you somewhere before,” Thomas said, half serious.
Corey closed his eyes, “Maybe you have.” With that, he drifted away.
Thomas watched him for a while. The way Corey appeared so peaceful. He reached up and flipped off the light. The room was drenched in a gentle shade of blue from the moon that hovered outside. He adored him. Even loved him. This was what love was. The simple contentedness that filled him just being beside him, such a profound peace. There was no place else he would rather be. It was something like this, a realization of this magnitude that made him for once completely aware of himself. Corey would forever be a part of him, despite what lay in wait for them later on. This was not just the passing of two souls in the night, it was an awakening. He knew he would love him even after death. Even after he passed through the Gates of Autumn, he would remember Corey as the best part of being alive.
Thomas carefully sat up and gained his footing on the floor. He gazed upon the object of his affection, his beloved. He held his breath as Corey turned onto his back, then again, rested. He wished he could witness his dream, somehow be a part of it, share it with him. Thomas wondered if it would be disruptive if he kissed him. Just a small kiss, one he had desired for so long. A light, feathery kiss. If he did stand at the Gates of Autumn and he was to let this moment pass him by, he would always wonder... what if?
He leaned over the edge of the bed, placing one hand on top of Corey’s pillow. He was so perfect. The way his full pink lips seemed to smile, even when he wasn’t trying. His nose, like a button, his eyes crowned with long, thick lashes. He kissed him lightly on his forehead, so softly that he didn’t even believe the kiss could be felt.
“Sweet dreams,” he whispered. Then he turned and crept out of the room.
He walked down the hall and just as he began down the stairs, he heard the front door open, then close again. He stopped automatically. Fright speared through his chest and anxiety overwhelmed him. It had to be Corey’s Father. What would he think? Here a stranger was walking out of his house while his son slept upstairs. Thomas tried to prepare himself for the worst, expecting Mr. Evans to scold him for intruding on his territory. He had never met the man face to face, for all Thomas knew; Corey’s Father would react to him just as his own Father always did.
Taking an apprehensive step down, Mr. Evans came into view. He was facing away from Thomas as he sifted through the pile of mail on the table in the hallway. Thomas reached the end of the stairs and headed toward the door. Just when he thought he had made a clean getaway, he heard Mr. Evans voice.
“Hello?” Timothy Evans called curiously.
Thomas stopped dead in his tracks. He tried to rationalize his fear. There was no reason to be worried, he had done nothing wrong. He was just visiting. Thomas turned and pushed his hand through his hair, avoiding Mr. Evans eyes, “Hi.”
Timothy placed his mail on the table, staring at Thomas. He approached him slowly, “You must be Chris. I’ve been waiting to meet you.”
Thomas saw the man was smiling, “No. I’m Thomas Bradford. I live right down the street,” he explained quietly.
Timothy held out his hand, waiting for Thomas to take it, “Oh, forgive me. You’re a friend of Corey’s, I’ve heard so much about you.”
Thomas shook his hand. Timothy’s grip was not as firm as he expected. It was far too endearing to be hostile, “I’ve heard a lot about you as well. It’s nice to meet you,” Thomas said, instantly feeling eased by Timothy’s pleasant demeanor.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Thomas. Corey keeps telling me about this young man by the name of Chris, I’ve been waiting to meet him for nearly four months now, so I thought you may be him. An honest mistake,” Timothy offered kindly.
“No problem,” Thomas replied.
“So, what have you two been up to this evening? By the way, where is Corey?” Timothy asked.
Thomas twirled his thumbs, “He’s upstairs. I guess he was really tired because he fell asleep. I was just going home.”
“He’s been going through quite a bit lately. He was undoubtedly exhausted,” Timothy stated, turning toward the hall, motioning for Thomas to join him, “Come and have a cup of tea. Fill me in on all I’ve been missing.”
Thomas hesitated. A part of him wanted to turn and run, not from fear, but from the certain fact he would undoubtedly make Mr. Evans hate him. He was never one to be well like by the adult fare. He felt a spike of panic slice through his chest like a cold blade, but, in an effort to be cooperative, he followed him into the kitchen as Timothy turned on the stove and filled the tea pot.
“I’ve been so busy at work that I haven’t been able to spend much time getting to know my son’s friends.” After placing the pot on the red burner, he made his way to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for Thomas, then one for himself, “Bradford sounds familiar. I believe there’s an orthodontist in town by the name, is that your Father?”
Thomas was reluctant to answer. If he knew his Father then he most likely hated him, just as most of the people in town did. Perhaps Mr. Evans had seen one of his infamous public shouting matches or witnessed his rude and callous demeanor. Just by association he would be immediately judged. Beneath a veil of shame, he placed his hands in his lap and stared at them, “Yes sir.”
Timothy noted the young man’s reserve, “What does your Mother do?”
“My Mother is no longer with us. She’s not dead, or anything. She just left a long time ago,” Thomas said, not bearing any sor
row from the fact. He was perfectly used to explaining the matter to strangers. The subject didn’t bother him anymore. When he thought of his Mother, he would grow numb, as if he were discussing the weather. He was indifferent.
“I see,” Timothy began, regretting his venture into that area. “So you must be getting ready for college. Where do you plan on going?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’m hoping to attend an art school somewhere. I’ve been looking, but I have yet to find one I like,” Thomas shared.
“You’re an artist! That’s a very noble profession. What’s your specialty, Graphic arts, Architecture, Virtual design?”
Thomas was thunderstruck. He suddenly felt totally inept- virtually unqualified in making the previous statement, “I- I draw. You know, pencil, charcoal, chalk.”
Timothy laughed and patted the young man on the shoulder as he stood and walked toward the stove, where the teapot screeched. He removed it, appeasing the noise, and began pouring them each a cupful of steaming water. “So you want to be the next Leonardo Da Vinci. It’s nice to see you have high aspirations. You know, they have this wonderful art school in San Francisco. I have a friend I could contact and find out the details,” Timothy suggested.
Thomas was astounded. Mr. Evans hadn’t known him for ten minutes, yet he was more than willing to assist him.
“That- that would be great. I’d really appreciate that.”
Timothy sat down a hot cup of tea in front of his guest, “Careful, it’s really hot,” he instructed. He took his seat next to Thomas, “Tell me, I hate to interrogate you about this matter, but seeing as I have yet to meet this Chris fellow, I wonder if you might tell me a little bit about him.”
“I don’t know him.”
“He must have gone to school with you, right.”
“I guess. I’ve only heard Corey mention him a few times. He never really goes into detail.” Timothy sipped his tea, “Well, looks like we’re both left in the dark. I’ve asked Corey about him before, but he gives me the same, vague reply every time. I suppose I’ll have to insist on meeting him before the relationship goes any further. I just hope he’s a nice young man. I trust Corey’s choices, but sometimes he has a bit of a naive belief in the kindness of others.”
Thinking of Corey, Thomas smiled, “He’s a special person.”
Timothy grinned, “Yes. He is. He’s not your average teenager, that’s for sure. That’s why I tend to be a little over protective of him. He feels things so easily. Most people his age grow immune to everything but themselves. Usually they’re so immersed in their lives, they tend to disregard others. Corey never became immune. He wants to save the world, and everybody in it. He would if he could, too!” He laughed at the notion then took another drink.
Thomas enjoyed talking with Timothy. It had been a long while since he had sat down with an older man and felt completely unguarded, “He’s lucky to have such an understanding Father. Most wouldn’t be so accepting of a son who is... gay.”
Timothy gave him a peculiar glance, “Why do you say that?”
The way Mr. Evans looked at him was as if he were completely blind to the fact, as though the comment had come completely from thin air.
Thomas leaned forward, “Well, you know some parents disown their kids for being...”
Timothy cut him off, “I know. I’ve heard some very sad stories and seen some very torn families. Disowning my own son seems,” He paused, searching for the right word, “Inhumane to me. I suppose other families use religious logic as an excuse, or certain moral convictions. Personally, my wife and I exercise the more realistic means of acceptance. Corey is a good kid. In fact, most parents could only wish they had a son like him. My wife and I consider ourselves lucky to have him. My son was born gay, just like some are born left handed. We knew even before he told us, so it was never an issue. I love him. My wife loves him, and Corey is our child, nothing can take that away. For someone to think that my child is some sort of deviate because of his preferences is nothing less than ignorant. It’s a fact of life. I know he’ll grow up and become a productive member of society. When there are so many frightening influences out there, to cast out someone because they’re gay is the only immoral act to be noted. Corey and I lead a normal life. That one aspect plays no part in establishing what he has the potential of becoming. That comes from the heart, and the head. I think everyone should go into parenthood with one obligation, and that is to pave a solid road for their child to walk on, and a bright light for him to follow, while encouraging him to develop his own individuality. That’s really what being a parent is about. When they come to you and they say something that doesn’t necessarily fit what you hoped, or expected he would be, to stunt that process of their growth is negligent, and cruel. Homosexuals have a hard enough time being fully embraced even in a modern society, so why would a parent choose to worsen their child’s situation by starting the hate at home?”
Timothy saw Thomas was stiffened by his speech, “I’m preaching and I apologize. I was a speaker at the west coast PFLAG conference and I liked it so much I just.. Well I haven’t shut up since. I have very firm ground on this subject, as you can see.”
Thomas felt refreshed. “You’re a good Dad. I wish my Father was like you. Unfortunately, he’s not as smart as you.”
“It doesn’t take smarts, Thomas. It’s a matter of common sense, and parental obligation. If a man wants a carbon copy of himself, he should have himself cloned, not have a child,” Timothy declared as he finished his tea.
“True. So true.”
“You keep what I told you, son, and you’ll be a excellent Father someday,” Timothy said, sitting back.
Thomas leaned toward him, embracing this unusual feeling of complete comfort, “I’ve always wanted kids. I want to adopt and have a big family, you know? I have this clear image in my mind, of holidays and all of my children and grandchildren around the table. I have this picture of a big family, that’s what I want.”
“Well, that’s what you’ll have then!” Timothy declared.
The hours slipped away and the night wore on as the two Men sat in the presence of the other and delightfully took regard. Timothy, enjoying the youthful enthusiasm of the boy at his side, and Thomas in the interest his elder had displayed.
Finally, Thomas stood up, and Timothy escorted him to the door. “I’m glad that Corey has a friend like you. I know he’s in good hands,” Timothy complimented.
“I really like him, Sir. I’d never let anything happen to him,” Thomas reassured as he reached the door.
“Just between you and me, I know Corey is really fond of you as well. He goes on and on about you,” Timothy informed.
“Does he?” Thomas asked confounded.
Mr. Evans nodded as he placed his arm around Thomas, “Yes, he does.”
Thomas opened the door, “Thank you, Mr. Evans. For the tea and for the talk.”
Timothy held onto Thomas’s shoulder, “You can call me Tim. Mr. makes me sound like an old man, and you’re perfectly welcome, Tom.”
They shook hands and Thomas walked out into the cool evening air. He walked off the porch and onto the lawn. He turned once toward the house as the porch light went off, and then continued on his way.
Gabe watched him from his bedroom window. It made him nauseous to see Thomas Bradford at Corey’s house. It was well past 2 a.m., so what was he doing there? When he could no longer repress the urgency to know, he jumped off the bed and ran downstairs, soaring through the front door onto the lawn, dashing toward Thomas.
“Hey. Hey Thomas!” Gabe called.
Thomas stopped, facing him. Gabe Cavanaugh?
Gabe reached him, “I thought I saw you coming from Corey’s house,” Gabe stated, breathing hard.
“So,” Thomas retorted indignantly. Aside from evening games of Hide and seek years ago when they were children and those two weeks when all of the other kids on Harrington had Chicken Pox and Thomas and G
abe were the only ones unaffected so they played with each other, Gabe had never bothered to talk to him before. Thomas never desired him to. It had always been obvious to both of them that they had nothing in common.
“I just...” Gabe had to think fast, he didn’t want to appear as if he cared, “I was just surprised to see it. I know that you and I have never really been friends or anything like that, but I just thought I should warn you...”
“Warn me about what?” Thomas asked solidly.
Gabe stepped up onto the curb, coming closer to Thomas, “He’s gay.”
Thomas was faceless. Gabe expected him to gag, or withdraw in disbelief. Everyone knew that Thomas was a skinhead, or something like that. Always in trouble, hated everyone, and everything. Surely he would not stand to be in the presence of a known homosexual. It was a genius plan. Certainly Thomas would be sent running for the hills with his tail between his legs. That would solve all of Gabe’s problems.
“And...” Thomas said uncaring. He was disgusted that Gabe thought he was doing him a favor by telling him. This was all it took to vindicate his previous suspicions. Gabe was a brainless, airhead, jock.
Gabe continued, “And if people see you cavorting with someone like that, they might get the wrong idea about you. You don’t want people thinking that you’re a-“
“A queer? A faggot? A raging homo? Is that it? No, Gabe, I’m not afraid. I don’t give a shit about what people think of me. If they weren’t so pathetically bored with their own lives, they wouldn’t have to have their faces crammed into my business, nor would they care about what I’m doing, or who I’m fucking anyway, now would they? So instead of acting like you’re on some divine mission to rescue me from the big, bad fairy, why don’t you take your little ass back where it came from and ask yourself why you ran out here in the middle of the night to ask me such a retarded question in the first place, and I’m sure you’ll find that it wasn’t for my benefit,” Thomas scowled irritated.
Gabe recoiled in shock. Thomas wasn’t running... “What are you talking about? I’m trying to help you out here!” Gabe spat.
“You aren’t trying to help me. You’re just trying to dig for information. What do you want me to tell you Cavanaugh, he has frilly lingerie in his closet? He conducts all male orgies in his backyard? Is that what you want to hear?” Thomas blasted furiously.
Somehow, this wasn’t going as planned. Open mouth, insert foot. Gabe felt inferior as Thomas began away, and inferiority was intolerable, especially when weighed against a social invalid like Thomas Bradford.
He chased him, “I’m not fishing for information. All I am doing is trying to look out for you.” “Yeah? Well, don’t do me any favors. You don’t even know him. You don’t know me.” Thomas muttered.
Flabbergasted, Gabe continued after him, “I do know him!” He retorted, before stopping to think of the consequences.
Thomas halted, spinning to face him, “If you knew him, then why would you be out here warning me about being seen with him. I’m not ashamed. He’s my friend. He’s more of a friend to me than anyone has ever been before. If you truly knew Corey, you would never condemn him, or anybody else for being with him.”
“I’m not condemning him. It’s not like I’m the village idiot here, man! I’m just telling you what I know,” Gabe declared in defense.
“Oh yeah, and just what do you know,” Thomas mocked. Gabe suddenly felt armed. He was pulling out the big guns now.
“I know that Corey has a boyfriend. His boyfriend is my best friend- as a matter of fact... I know that he loves him, and I know that if you try to fuck things up, you’ll be sorry.” Bull’s eye. Gabe could see the life draining out of Thomas’s face. All Thomas could do was stare. No matter how hard he tried, nothing would escape his mouth.
Defeated, he slowly turned, feeling as if he was a mirror, and Gabe was the rock that had just shattered him into a million pieces. Gabe quietly rejoiced victoriously as Thomas grew farther away. He knew that he wouldn’t be getting in his way any longer. He didn’t have to worry about Thomas taking Corey from him.
“Thomas…” Gabe called out.
Thomas stopped again, but couldn’t turn to face him again.
“If you think about it, why would Corey ever want a friend like you? A drug addict, a loser, you have a record, right? You’re kidding yourself. If you really gave a shit about him you would stay as far away from him as you can get,” Gabe said, walking backwards into the street, heading back home.
Thomas stood heavy. Anger inflamed every pore of his flesh. He wanted to fight, to yell, to rip Gabe apart, yet he could not move a muscle. He just stood there. Quiet. Alone. Even if he could function, what would he say? Gabe was right, and he knew that. Corey loved another. Another more worthy of the love he had to give. Thomas would never contest the fact that his feelings were a fantasy, but it was like a knife in the chest when it was used against him.
To look at Thomas, the way he stood against the wind, his face void of any expression, no one could tell he was suffering. Perhaps the only indication was the one, lonely tear winding it’s way over his chiseled face, falling from his chin to the cold sidewalk far below.
“What am I doing?” Gabe thought as he walked into his bedroom, now the victim of the pounding guilt that devoured him. It was never like him to be so heartless. He was sorry for attacking Thomas the way he had. He didn’t want to hurt him. It was like, all of his emotions began to twist and turn like a cyclone inside of him. The bitter taste of raw jealousy wrapped itself around his tongue and poisoned his insides and all he could think about was ridding Thomas of the picture. He was scared, even paranoid, and he realized it was irrational, he could talk to himself aloud and attempt to soothe the churning emotions that controlled him, but the emotions always won over the logic.
Thomas just happened to be an innocent bystander who stepped into the line of fire and posed a threat. Gabe was a reasonable man. He knew it was wrong to threaten Thomas when he really didn’t even know him, though he’d heard plenty of stories about his drug problem, and his criminal offenses. Maybe there was no justifying his actions. Maybe Thomas never intended on soliciting Corey. All right, so there was that possibility, but nevertheless, Gabe swooped in and eliminated any chance of losing Corey. That’s what really mattered... Corey. In a world that was ready to swallow Gabe whole, while the rest fell away, Corey would be all that remained. He laid on his pillow staring at the ceiling. The tiny droplets of dried paint, along with the perforated wrinkles created a collection of shapes above him. It was then that Gabe realized how deep he’d gotten. When would he stop pretending? What would happen in the final chapter of his chaotic story? How could he salvage all he treasured, or had he sacrificed it all in the very beginning? He didn’t know how it would end, but someday, the truth would come out. He would have to tell Corey, and then Rachel would know. Oh, what a tangled web we weave. Never did he think he would find himself here, at this point in life, where he relied so much on everyone else to hide him from the one thing he loved most. Thomas wasn’t ashamed of being seen with Corey... maybe that was Gabe’s biggest threat. There was no shield in front of Thomas, nothing to fear. Perhaps it wasn’t just jealousy over Corey that fueled his anger, but resentment of Thomas’s freedom.
twelve
Ashes, Ashes We All Fall Down
Sadie Stories Page 10